


Demonic Domesticity?

by the_many_splendored



Series: Domestic, Not Domesticated [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Developing Friendships, F/M, Family Feels, Home Invasion, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_many_splendored/pseuds/the_many_splendored
Summary: When you moved into your friend's ancestral home, you didn't expect to have company, especially not of the demonic variety.(Prequel to "Played Like a Violin")
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Series: Domestic, Not Domesticated [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582993
Comments: 14
Kudos: 184





	1. What The Literal Hell?

**Author's Note:**

> So I promised a prequel, didn't I? No smut in these chapters, since they all take place prior to the first part, but I wanted to give an idea of the world that Alastor and our girl find themselves in. I figured it was easier to put this as Part 2 of the series since I didn't initially plan for a prequel when I first wrote the smutty business. Hope you enjoy!

The guys on the moving team have been great, but you can’t deny the relief you feel when you step through the door of your Garden District home and lock it up behind you. You love New Orleans and all its vibrancy, but the blessed silence after the tumult of getting moved in is so refreshing you can almost taste it.

Thankfully the furniture is already organized, and you sprawl out on the living room couch with a happy sigh. Digging for your phone, you pull up your contacts and dial your friend Zoe.

After two rings, she picks up, and in her usual cheerful way, she says, “Hey, hun! Did everything go ok?”

“More than ok,” you say. “Could you thank your mom again for hiring those guys? They were fantastic, especially for how well they handled moving around the stuff that’s already here.”

“I’ll definitely tell her, but it’s nothing she doesn’t know already. It’s the same company she used to get things organized after Grammie Lena passed, and I don’t think she trusts anyone else.”

Fumbling around for a blanket, you curl up, feeling your eyes droop already. “Well, regardless, I’d like to have you two over tomorrow around 7 or so to see how the place looks. I’d say tonight, but I know I’m not gonna be good company; I'm bushed.”

“Sounds great. Talk to you soon!” Zoe hangs up before you can say good-bye, but honestly, you don’t mind. Even though it’s early, you're easily as tired as you told Zoe, if not more so. After switching off the lamp on the side table, you drop into a heavy sleep.

* * *

At around 2 am, you wake with a start. You don’t know if you actually heard any noise, but you can feel your pulse in your throat. Sitting up from the couch, you catch your breath, and you fumble for the switch on the nearby lamp. If you can get some light, you can at least make sure that nothing’s out of place.

You wince as the light turns on, and as you stretch, you look around. The couch hasn’t moved underneath you, and the contents on the bookshelves don’t look out of place. Shrugging, you move to turn the light back off when you see that the mirror in the hallway, one of Grammie Lena’s antiques, appears to be hanging crooked.

_Huh, the stupid thing must have slipped_. Walking into the foyer past the stairwell, you reach to adjust the glass, and as it slides back into place, you blink hard. You must be sleepier than you thought because there’s no way that some tall red figure is standing right behind you.

Your conviction lasts for all of a second, because when you turn around, you bump into a very solid person who must be at least seven feet tall. With a quick sweep of your eyes, you take in red hair and eyes, grey skin, a smile that looks like it could tear you to pieces, a monocle, and an impeccably tailored suit. You would observe more, but this person’s whole affect is so strange that you can’t even scream, you just faint.

When you come to a few minutes later, you’re leaning against the stairs. As you rub your face, you’re surprised to find that nothing hurts. You’re grateful, but it makes no sense – how did you not hit your head?

“Good, you’re awake!” says a cheerful voice from behind you, and you whip around so quickly that you almost whack your forehead on the stair railing. Looking up, you see the figure from before, and this time, he (you think he’s a he) is leaning over the railing and is looking at you with that same sharp smile. “And just who might you be?” You could be wrong, but his voice sounds like it’s coming through an old-time radio filter.

You can’t stifle a feeling of annoyance, even if this guy’s whole persona is still freaking you out. “Excuse me?” you hiss. “What do you mean, who am I? Who are _you_ , you damn sneak?! How did you even get in here?”

He lets out a theatrical chuckle, as if you’re a child throwing a particularly ineffective tantrum. “Fine, my dear, I’ll answer your questions first. One..” He lifts a finger, and you notice his hands are burgundy with red claws. “I ask who you are because this house belongs to my family and you don’t look a thing like any of them. You’re pretty, my dear, but you don’t have the Fontenot look about you.”

If he sees you blush at the compliment, he doesn’t say anything. “Two!” he continues, “My name was Alexander Fontenot, but nowadays I go by Alastor. Three-“ he points to the mirror, “this is how I come and go – see?” He steps over, and you let out a small gasp as he disappears into it. A moment later, he reappears, and somehow his smile seems even more smug. Come to think of it, has he dropped the smile at all since he showed up?

Clearing your throat, you try to contain your frustration. “Fine then.” You tell him your name. “The people who I’m looking after the place for didn’t tell me there were…dimensional portals or whatever in the house.” You mutter under your breath, “I’m gonna kill Zoe for not saying anything…”

“Zoe?? Are you talking about Lena’s granddaughter? Why didn’t you say so!” Alastor’s smile has morphed into an expression of pure glee that’s almost painful in its sincerity. “Any friend of my niece’s family is a friend of _mine,_ sweetheart!” He pulls you to your feet, grabbing your wrist in some strange approximation of a hand shake. “How _are_ the members of Lena’s little brood doing?”

You appreciate his change in demeanor, but you pull your hand away just the same. “Zoe and her mom are doing fine…” A thought occurs to you, and you say – “In fact, they’re coming over to visit tomorrow night – do you want to say hello?”


	2. Fontenot House Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because the house belonged to Alastor doesn't mean his family has no say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's dialogue and exposition heavy; I promise next chapter will have more action!

Zoe and her mother show up right on time for the tour of the house, and you restrain a crafty smile when they walk through the door. You and Alastor have agreed that he’s going to introduce himself - if he doesn’t scare them, you’ll have your answer about whether they set you up. In your heart of hearts, you want to believe that Zoe herself wouldn’t do that, but you don’t know her mom that well. Who’s to say she _didn’t_ dump a haunted house on you so that she wouldn’t have to deal with it? (Not that you’re sure Alastor _is_ a ghost, but he’s certainly not human…)

“Oh hun, it looks great!” Zoe’s enthusiasm seems genuine, and again, you hope you’re wrong about her intentions. “You were right, the movers placed everything wonderfully.”

“They did,” you agree. “That said, we weren’t the only ones to have an opinion.” You flick your eyes to the hallway mirror, and a shadowy face winks at you, waiting for your signal. You make a subtle nod, and Alastor manifests behind you, out of Zoe and her mom’s sight. “In fact, he has something to say to you…”

“Molly! Zoe!” Alastor calls out. “So good to see you both!”

The other two women turn around, and the looks on their faces make you feel like an utter schmuck. Zoe is quite obviously confused, but Molly looks like she’s about to cry. In a small voice, she asks, “Are you real?”

“Quite real, kiddo! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your old Uncle Al?”

Molly takes a moment to collect herself and turns to you. “Honey, I’m so sorry I didn’t mention this; I hadn’t seen Alastor manifest in the house since I was about 13 – I was starting to think he was just an imaginary friend I dreamed up when I learned that my mom’s uncle Alex disappeared in 1933.”

Zoe’s expression has turned from confusion to open skepticism. “Mom, that makes no sense; if he’s who you say he is, he’d have to be at least 120 years old! This guy can’t be older than 35 – and if he stopped showing up when you were a teen, why does he know who I am?” She turns to you too. “C’mon, you can’t actually believe this?”

Swallowing hard, you say, “What I know is this – he came through the mirror last night, scared me half to death, and then wanted to know why a non-Fontenot was living in the house. I’m sorry for the weirdness, but you can understand why I wanted answers.”

Alastor and Molly look at each other, and Molly nods firmly. “You’re right, and I’m thinking we should have a family discussion. If no one moved the liquor stash, we could all do with a shot of something.”

* * *

Even with Alastor looking out for her most of her childhood, there are things that Molly didn’t know. In fact, she seems genuinely startled when Alastor tells her he’s not a ghost, and certainly no guardian angel. “I’m a demon through and through – and I’m not being metaphorical. If you don’t want the details, I won’t give them, but my damnation was just. The only reason I get to come and go from Hell is that I’ve come into certain powers in my decades down in the pit. Even with those, I’m confined to the house, and I can only come and go by the mirrors.”

Zoe interjects, rolling her now empty shot glass between her fingers. “And you’ve been checking in on us…just because?”

“Call it concern for the family welfare.” You’ve only known him these last twenty hours, but you’re suddenly certain that Alastor is being serious. “When I left the mortal plane, I had no idea if my brother and his family would pay socially for my misdeeds. You know how rumors fly…” He brings the bottle of rum towards Zoe and she grudgingly takes it, pouring herself another small measure. “If I knew that the rest of you were still living your lives comfortably, then at least I can say I didn’t drag anyone else down with me.”

This time, you’re the one to let out a disbelieving chuckle. “And what – Hell isn’t interesting enough for you these days?”

“Actually, my dear, it is _painfully_ boring!” The red-haired demon leans on one of the nearby chairs but doesn’t opt to sit down. “Hell is, frankly, stagnant; the damned are a pretty banal lot. If I want any entertainment, it’s far better to come up here and see what the other Fontenots are up to – with you all still being human, at least you change!” Pointing to you, he says, “That said, I don’t want any harm to come to any of them, which is why I was initially suspicious of you. I briefly looked up through the portals when dear Lena passed, but I must have missed the conversation about you moving in – for all I knew, you were some squatter trying to take what wasn’t yours!”

Molly speaks up, and even for clearly caring about this demon, there's a severity in her tone that you've never heard before. “Yes, and we've gotta sort that out. If you’re going to be manifesting again, I need to know that you won’t bother my daughter’s friend. Is that something I can trust you with, Uncle Al?”

Alastor lets out a light chuckle. “Let’s be honest, Moll – could you stop me if I said no?”

Molly gets a crafty smile on her face, and you suddenly recognize the “Fontenot look” that Alastor mentioned – her smirk is smaller than Al’s, but her cheekbones now look more pronounced, giving her a strong resemblance to her great-uncle. The effect is truly sinister. “I could. I left the home as similar as I could to how Mama kept it, but I own everything that Zoe’s friend didn’t bring in herself. If I want to take all the mirrors out of here and lock you out, that’s my right.”

You blink hard, not quite believing your eyes. Does Alastor seem almost…worried? Before you can determine if you’re seeing it right, Molly asks you, “This all depends on you too, hun - if you don’t want a roommate, you can say so. Springing this on you was my mistake, and I’m willing to fix it.” The sinister expression is gone now.

“Um…” You look between the other three people present, and when your eyes settle back on Alastor, you find you were right. Even through his smile, his eyes have narrowed; it makes him look like a cornered animal. You can’t kick him out of his own house, but you don’t _really_ know him well enough to live with him, right?

“What about a probationary option?” you ask. “If he comes around as he pleases for a month and we manage fine, he can stay. Otherwise, he gets the boot on the first of next month.”

“Excellent idea, darlin’!” Alastor cuts in. You shoot him a look of annoyance, but he continues on. “I certainly wouldn’t put any extra strain on the utilities or the food budget!”

Zoe shrugs. “I like how it sounds, Mom, but you’re the closest thing there is to a landlord. What do you think?”

Molly considers a moment and then nods. “We can make that work. I would say let’s shake on it, but somehow that seems like a bad idea.”

Alastor laughs in a much more sincere way, and you find yourself smiling. “Moll, I always knew you were smart! I wouldn’t shake my hand either!”

* * *

After everything gets finalized, you realize you want to be alone. Thankfully, Molly and Zoe get the hint and are on their way. However, you notice that Alastor seems to be hovering a bit too close to you while you work on your computer. After a few minutes, you flick your eyes over to him. “If you want to ask me something, Alastor, just do it already.” 

“I more want an assurance, my dear. You see, Molly and Zoe emphasized _my_ need to act in good faith in this little arrangement, but I've realized that this could be exploited on your end too. For all I know, you’ll lie to the family to get me kicked out, and I can’t have that. This is the one reprieve I get and I refuse to give it up.”

With a heavy sigh, you close your laptop. “I thought you said that if I was Zoe’s friend, that made me your friend too. Do you not trust me?”

The demon starts laughing so hard that you're afraid he's going to give himself a stomach ache. “Darling, I barely trust my own friends in Hell! Everyone has an agenda these days, wouldn’t you agree?”

He’s not wrong - what person is free from bias? Considering your words, you say, “My agenda is to live safely and happily in this house. I won’t lie or exaggerate to make that happen; that’s a promise.” Before he can respond, you walk past him. “Good night, Al.”

As you climb up the stairs, you turn around and see him down in the hallway. You expect him to talk, but instead, he offers you a small wave and disappears. As you get ready for bed, you wonder what it means that he let you have the last word...


	3. Forcing Your Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curse your indecision....

You’ve tried to be cordial to Alastor this last month, but he still picks up on your unease. On the 31st, you’re picking at your dinner when he says, “I can’t help notice the date on the calendar, my dear.”

You nod, chopping a piece of broccoli with the side of your fork. “I know my days of the month, Alastor.”

“Well then! I don’t mean to pester, but have you decided what you want to do about our living situation? Tomorrow’s the deadline after all.”

You sigh. “I can't say that I _have_ a decision.”

“Come now, you’re a smart girl! Have you really been foundering with indecision this whole time?” He pulls up a chair to sit next to you – he’s never done that before. “I’d like to think I’ve been a good living companion, haven’t I?”

He’s hit upon something there, and you realize what the problem is. “You’ve been perfectly well-behaved, Al, but in all this time, I’ve never actually gotten to _know_ you. Do you know how strange that is to share a space with someone and not learn a single new thing about them?”

He chuckles. “I find that hard to believe – surely you didn’t know at the beginning of the month how much I enjoy sharing a good whiskey with you on Friday evenings!” He claps a hand on your shoulder in some imitation of camaraderie, but you brush him off.

“I mean important things! At least for a mortal roommate, I could conduct a background check.” You didn't want to tell him this next part, but your concerns won't make sense if you don't. “I’ve been trying to research you, and I’ve gotten nowhere. You said you went to Hell for a good reason, but when I look up “Alexander Fontenot New Orleans” online, the only things I can find are your census forms and an old article about when you disappeared.” You throw up your hands in frustration. “I don’t know what you did, so I can’t make an informed decision!”

“Aha! There was no need to play detective, my dear! If you wanted the answer, all you had to do was ask!”

Now your frustration at the whole situation is threatening to make your voice crack. “But what if I hate the answer??” You’re babbling and you can’t seem to stop. “What if you’re a gangster or something, why haven’t you hurt me, what do I tell Zoe and her mom, how-”

Your word vomit is interrupted by a loud pounding on your front door. In almost perfect synchronization, you and Alastor look at the clock showing the late hour, and then back at each other. He shrugs: “I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone, darling – were you?”

“No, I wasn’t...” Getting up, you go to the pantry and pull out an aluminum baseball bat you bought after Alastor startled you that first time. You haven’t had to use it, but right now, you’re glad to have something with some heft in your grip. As you walk into the hallway, the pounding happens again, and you yell, “Who’s there?” with as much bravado as you can muster. _God_ , you think, _I should have asked Molly to install cameras…_

“Open the fuckin’ door!” a loud male voice hollers back. A shudder runs through you, and before you can make any kind of response, the front door gives way with a sickening crack.

You let out a wordless shriek as a hand reaches through the wreck, and Alastor is by your side in an instant. His voice is low and dangerous: “I’ll handle this.” He seems to be holding a red aura of some kind, and with a flick of his fingers, the door starts to fix itself – while the intruder is still reaching through.

The man on the other side of the door lets out a strangled yell, and as the wood fills in around him, you can see splinters start to push into his skin. Alastor is turning his wrist over as if he’s tightening a vice, and with that same dangerous tone, he says, “You wanted to know what I am, my dear? This is it – I was a cannibal and a killer. I had a fine time in my life torturing whoever I could get my hands on, whether they were innocents or scum like this idiot. Say the word, and he loses his arm; I could certainly use the protein.”

You appreciate his honesty, but the crunching noises you’re hearing are already making you sick. “No, no, don’t do that, just get him out of here!”

He sighs as if you’ve denied his fun. “Very well then.” He turns his wrist back the other way and makes a gesture with his other hand. Through the crack in the door, you can see the intruder land hard on the street. He’s still for a moment, then he scrambles away with more speed than you’d expect from someone who was just attacked by a demon.

You’re almost hyperventilating, and you barely notice when Alastor peels the bat out of your hands and puts it away. You’re still standing in the hallway when he returns, fixing the door with a snap of his fingers; you can’t even object when he uses that strange red magic to float you over to the couch.

He’s standing at a respectful distance, but on some strange impulse, you reach out to him wordlessly. You don’t think you want him to hold you, but you want him closer, even after seeing what he’s done. He nods and sits down next to you, offering a hand for you to take if you want it.

You lay your hand on top of his, and for several minutes, the only sound you hear is him humming some tune you haven’t heard since you were a little girl. You’re the one to break the silence when you ask, “Will you please stay here?”

“Beyond tomorrow, you mean?”

“Yes…beyond tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're back to where "Played Like a Violin" started! Any parts from here on out will be placed appropriately in the timeline.


End file.
